Delivery Room
by Brookebynature
Summary: As it turns out, all of those years of being surrounded by blood count for nothing when he can't make it through the birth of his child without fainting once and almost-fainting a further half dozen times. Damon has to impose a few rules so that this can't happen again. Post season 7. Delena.


**A/N -** Hey guys. I'm really late to the Delena party. Like _really_ late. Thank God for Netflix because I discovered the amazingness that is Vampire Diaries about a month ago when my friend at work kept willing me to watch it. Thank God I listened! So I don't even know if many people still watch the show or still ship Delena but I'm in love and I needed to write something. I have to be honest, I actually can't bring myself to watch that dance scene in 6X22 because I might actually have some sort of heart attack. Needless to say, I haven't watched season 7 because seriously, what is VD without Delena?! I'm desperately hoping that Nina will return in Season 8 (for more than just the finale) so I can watch again. Until then, I'll have to get by on fanfiction. I sound like an addict...

 **Disclaimer -** I don't own Vampire Diaries. If I did, I wouldn't still be living with my parents, and I wouldn't have let Nina leave ;)

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Delivery Room

Of all of the ways Damon has imagined this moment, _this_ was not one of them. _He_ is supposed to be the strong one. I mean, sure, _technically_ the fact that a woman, _his woman_ no less, could grow a life inside of her and then bring that life into the world meant that women were the stronger sex. But _he_ is meant to be strong for _her_. He is not supposed to be lying on the floor right now. He is supposed to be at the head of the bed holding Elena's hand and assuring her that she can do this. There's the universe laughing at him again.

He finds that as he tries to pick himself up from this ridiculous position he's lying in, his legs won't work yet. "Mr Salvatore, we suggest you stay there," comes a voice. "Things are likely to get a little more…" the doctor searches for the right word, "intense."

"Damon." The way she says his name jolts his legs into action. He refuses to spend another second on this floor.

"Coming baby," is what he tries to say. What he actually hears is a sort of mumbled "cbay" but his legs are working and his hands are - rather unsteadily - pushing his body off of the floor.

The nurse ignores his feeble protests against needing a chair and pulls the one by the window so that it's close enough to the bed that Damon can hold Elena's hand, yet far enough away that she has unrestricted access to the monitor that, for the past fourteen hours, has been spewing out white paper adorned with various lines he doesn't understand.

Once he's settled and his eyes are almost fully focusing on Elena's hair - pulled into a messy bun on top of her head and framed with sweat - she brings his hand to her lips.

"You okay?"

"I should be asking you that."

"It was just my waters breaking."

"I know."

It was her waters breaking and it's supposed to happen and she hadn't even screamed but it doesn't make it any better. He's saved her from death way too many times to count. He's unhooked her from wires in the hospital and carried her home. He's killed. He's been surrounded by blood for what? One hundred and fifty years? He's not even flinched before. And her _waters breaking_ makes him pass out. The universe is in danger of having a heart attack.

X

Fifteen hours ago:

"Elena, come on!" Damon urged, pacing backwards and forwards in front of the door, bag in hand, wide-eyed and 1000% panicked.

She was laughing, _actually laughing_ , and tidying away the clean plates from dinner. "I've had, like, six contractions. I'm hardly going to give birth in the next twenty minutes."

"Boy you'll be sorry if that's not true." He muttered, walking into the kitchen to hurry her along under the guise of giving her a hand.

"Look around." She sighed contentedly, leaning back against his chest. "It's the last time we're gonna be in here, just the two of us."

He knew that and he couldn't help but break into a shit-eating grin. She'd literally given him everything he'd ever wanted from life - including just that: life itself. But if he didn't get her out of that house and towards the hospital in the next minute, he might actually have a breakdown.

They didn't make the trip in his beloved Camaro. They made it in his newest ridiculous purchase: A Volvo XC90. _A soccer mom ca_ r. The Camaro had too much acceleration he'd said, the moment he tossed the new car keys at her. It wasn't safe enough. They couldn't fit a stroller in the trunk; couldn't fit a car seat in the back (there weren't any isofix points) _Isofix points_! Elena had laughed until she'd had to go to the bathroom for fear of losing control of her bladder right there in front of the fire.

So there they were, driving along at forty because Damon was afraid that any jolt would mean the roadside delivery of their child, when the first of what the doctors had referred to stupidly as _real contractions_ reared its head and she shrieked in pain. His knuckles were white on the shift; the car was an automatic.

"Damon," She whispered through gritted teeth, "I think it's happening now."

He almost hit an oncoming car.

"What do you mean _now_? Like, _right now_? I told you we should have-"

"-No!" Elena cut in. "I just meant that I think this is the real thing now. You know, the _real contractions_."

He spied a look at her. He wished he hadn't. She seemed contorted with pain and had deployed the breathing techniques they taught in lamaze classes. Shit was now getting real.

"Please don't have this baby in the car." Damon half-groaned, half-pleaded and then he managed to crack a small semblance of a smile when Elena rolled her eyes.

"Just step on it a little."

He increased the speed to fifty. He didn't want her to have this baby in the car, but he apparently didn't want to break any speed limits either.

X

That was fifteen hours ago. There's still no baby and Damon has fainted once, and almost-fainted approximately a half dozen times. His hand is white. Not from the fainting, but from how tight Elena is gripping it. She stares ahead the entire time, concentrating on something (though he's not sure what) until the pain subsides and his hand returns to a more _human_ colour.

He thinks back to the day she finally awoke from the spell. The day his life had meaning again. It wasn't like the time he'd come back from the other side and she couldn't remember - though a small (okay, _large_ ) part of him feared it would be. It was like those years hadn't passed; she was still his and he was still hers and the only thing that mattered was them.

He'd married her the very next day. Not before he became her human counterpart of course. He remembers her dress and her eyes and the way her hair smelled as the wind fanned it across her shoulders. He remembers the way she said his name as she recited her vows - and the smile she gave him when he recited his. He remembers how they spend the entirety of the following day in bed kissing and exploring and holding and just _being_ together.

"What are you thinking about?" She asks him curiously, smoothing his hand with hers.

Damon opens his mouth to reply, but then he looks at her. _Really looks_ at her. Her deep, chocolate eyes are tired but alive, and strands of silken hair have fallen out of the bun, framing her face. Her chest is heaving as she regains breath and that gorgeous bump is making the sheets pool around her hips. Is there even a _word_ for loving someone this much? Is _love_ even the right word? Somehow it doesn't seem enough.

"I can't-"

He's saved from finishing his sentence by the crushing of his bones and possibly the worst sight he's ever seen as a contraction rips through Elena and she screams in agony, her eyes screwed tightly shut. Even when she died, it wasn't like this - because he could bring her back. Now he can't do a thing. And it's killing him.

It's over within a minute of course, but he can't erase that sight - and that sound - from his memory. But she tries again.

"Sorry." _What the hell is she apologising for?_ "You were saying?"

"What I was going to say doesn't matter." Damon tells her. "But what I'm about to say does."

She cocks an eyebrow, waiting for him. _How is she so calm?_ He's freaking the fuck out.

"I'm not doing this again." Damon states. "I mean it. From now on, we're using protection."

Elena eyes him knowingly.

"Or just not having sex at all. Ever."

Now she _knows_ he's being ridiculous. "Right."

"I mean it Elena." He continues. "I am never again going to be the reason you're in pain."

That, she knows he means. Still, she can't help but smile at his cute ridiculousness. And the fact that it was him who'd announced, the moment she told him she was pregnant, that he wanted a whole football team.

X

Damon doesn't speak for the next fifteen minutes as it's a non-stop barage of contractions and doctors and midwives and metal instruments that, weirdly, make his teeth ache, and "pant Elena" and crushing fingers and heavy breathing and black spots and willing himself not to faint. Then it's crying. Elena is crying and the baby is crying and _\- that's good because it means it's healthy -_ oh yeah, he appears to be crying because Elena is wiping at his cheeks with a shaky hand and this look in her eyes that he thinks he might be mirroring in his own.

And then (because somebody somewhere wants his heart to fucking burst) _he's_ handed their child. Their perfect olive-skinned, dark-haired, blue-eyed daughter who's yawning and curling her fingers around his.

 _How does he even deserve this?_

Elena names their daughter because Damon still hasn't spoken. He simply nods at her choice: Ariella Sofia. It's fucking perfect. Of course it is; Elena chose it.

"Thank you." His voice is hoarse. "Thank you." He repeats over and over and over until Elena has to cup his cheek to turn his face towards hers.

"Damon," Elena's voice is a whisper. She doesn't finish her sentence. Instead, her lips find his and her eyes are closed and suddenly the realisation comes to Damon that if he were to die now, it would surely be the best way to go.

But he doesn't die. He hands their daughter - _their daughter_ ( **that's** never going to get old) - to Elena and just watches as she speaks softly,

"Say 'ciao papa'."

He's so in love with this woman that it hurts - physically _hurts_. Damon thinks he might now be about to faint from sheer happiness. The universe can go fuck itself. He doesn't even care. But what he _does_ do is make a silent vow. He will do _whatever_ it takes to keep his wife and his daughter safe.

"Ti amerò per sempre."

Elena flashes him a smile. ""Ti amerò per sempre troppo."

"You can speak Italian now?"

"I was bound to pick up something from all of those chats you had at night."

"You heard those?" Damon asks, a little shocked. "I thought you were asleep - and that I was being quiet."

"You were." Elena replies, soothing Ariella with a gentle rocking as she fidgets. "But I didn't want to miss out."

"I have no right to love you as much as I do." Damon sighs, stroking Elena's cheek as she closes her eyes against his touch.

"You'd better love me as much as you do." She quips. "I just spent the last sixteen hours bringing your child into the world."

"And I'll never be able to repay you." He replies. "But Elena believe me when I say I'll do anything and _everything_ to keep you two safe."

She kisses him softly and replies, "I know" because there's nothing else to say.

"Please don't tell anyone I fainted. Especially Stefan."

"Oh I won't tell anyone." Elena replies with a small smirk. "Until she's eighteen."

Damon groans. "I don't even wanna _think_ about her turning eighteen."

"Papa's gonna scare all the boys away." Elena whispers to Ariella, who, exhausted by the whole birth thing, has closed her eyes to sleep.

"Damn right."

"And mama's going to teach you how to sneak out of the window."

"What?! No!"

"See that baby?" Elena coos at their daughter. "That's daddy pouting because he wants his own way. He's trying to be cute."

"Is it working?" Damon cocks an eyebrow hopefully.

"Now, or in eighteen years?"

"Both."

"In eighteen years? You haven't got a hope in hell." Elena giggles. "Now?" She leans in to close the space between them. "Totally working."

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 **A/N -** I'm debating writing a follow-up to this and have a few bits written but kind of want to gauge your interest before I go much further so please review. You never know; those reviews might inspire greater things ;)

 **UPDATE: There is a follow up to this story. Check out 'The Embargo' to read more xxx**


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